


Ghosts That We Knew

by willowharmony13



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Healing, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3272309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowharmony13/pseuds/willowharmony13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Mount Weather, all of the characters have ghosts to face. It's up to them to decide who will lead their lives- them or the ghosts.<br/>Set after everyone is released from Mount Weather. I would listen to "Ghosts That We Knew" by Mumford and Sons while reading this. (Yes, I stole the title of the song for the fic and the chapter titles from the lyrics.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You saw my pain washed out in the rain

**Author's Note:**

> Point of view will switch. We're starting with Bellamy.

He knew he was awake, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. Everything hurt so _much._ He could feel his legs beginning to come back to life as blood rushed back into them, bringing sensation back, yes, but pain too. His arms, his neck, his chest, they all ached with wounds and bruises. But now the pain was a dull ache, not sharp jabs. He couldn’t decide if it was better.

Once he’d registered the pain, he began to register other sensations. He was lying on a bed. That was good. Certainly better than the concrete floor of his cell or the cold metal table- he stopped himself before the memories could swallow him whole. Other sensations. Both of his hands were being held. Small hands, soft hands. O? One of them must belong to her. The other one… he couldn’t bring himself to hope. She’d sent him away. And there was something lightly pressing on his side- the top of someone’s head, he concluded.

He knew he had to open his eyes. Through his eyelids, it seemed to be mostly dark. If there wasn’t much light, it wouldn’t hurt that much. Slowly, he peeled his eyes open.

He was in the medical bay of Camp Jaha. He’d been right about that, at least. They’d gotten him out. Did that mean they got the others out? They had to have gotten the others out. He couldn’t’ve gone through that for nothing.

He leaned his head to the right, wincing quietly at the movement. _Octavia._ His little sister was there, she was there, she was safe, she was there. She was also out cold. _It must be late,_ he thought. How long had he been there? How long had he been asleep? He stared at his sister for a while. Her head rested on her own shoulder, her legs splayed out in front of her. _That can’t be comfortable,_ he thought.

He then dared to turn his head again. It wasn’t quite as bad as the first time, but his eyes still squinted shut from the pain. When he opened them, he nearly let out a cry of shock. The head pressed against his side, fast asleep, it was Clarke. After everything, after sending him into that damn mountain, there she was. He wanted to scream at her, he wanted to caress her, he wanted to push her away, and he wanted to kiss her. He never could decide how he felt about her, but now, after the mountain, she’d only made it worse.

He leaned his head back so that he was staring up at the ceiling again. He couldn’t go back to sleep. He didn’t _want_ to go back to sleep. He also couldn’t move. Might as well let them know he was awake, then.

“I thought _I_ was supposed to be Sleeping Beauty here,” he croaked. He didn’t know when the last time he actually _spoke_ was. His throat was rough and raw.

He felt movement on either side of him, and knew he’d gotten the response he’d wanted.

“Bell? Oh my God Bell, you’re awake!” Octavia had sprung up out of her chair and was leaning over him, fussing over him.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed. I thought I was still out cold,” he retorted.

“How are you _still_ this much of an asshole?”

“I’m your big brother. It’s my job.” He felt Clarke squeeze his left hand. She hadn’t spoken yet, and he knew why. But that first surge of anger… it was gone as soon as it came, and all he had left was more hurt. He turned his head towards her and smirked. “Hey, Princess.”

She flinched, and it took him a second to realize why. Spacewalker had coined that nickname. “Nice to see you awake,” she said softly.

“I could say the same to you two,” he replied. “Seriously. Those chairs _can’t_ be comfortable,” he said to O. “Though I won’t pretend I didn’t see P- Clarke stealing some of my bed for a pillo-“ he began coughing, his throat raw.

“I’ll get you some water,” Clarke started to stand up, but Bellamy gripped her hand tighter.

“I’ll get it,” Octavia conceded. “I need to stretch a bit anyways.” She gave him a look, telling him silently, _I know you need to talk to her._

“I….” for once, Clarke didn’t seem to have any words. “I’m so sorry, Bellamy,” was all she could manage.

“I know,” he said quietly.

“I shouldn’t have let you go. I shouldn’t have told you to, I should’ve-“ she was babbling now, staring down at her hands, unable to look at him.

“Clarke.” She turned toward him again. “It was my idea to go. You weren’t making me.”

“But I told you to.”

“And I wish you hadn’t, yeah. But it was my idea.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go. I couldn’t… I can’t lose you.” He kept waiting for her to say ‘too,’ but she never did. This wasn’t _I can’t lose you too,_ this wasn’t _I can’t lose another person,_ this was her saying she couldn’t lose _him._

“I’m not going anywhere,” he managed after a little while.

“You better not,” she retorted, using her free hand to wipe tears from her eyes. She hadn’t let go of his hand the whole time.


	2. But you saw no fault, no cracks in my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke sifts through the events before and after the rescue, trying to figure out why Bellamy forgave her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a day! I feel damn productive.

Clarke was trying her best to stay focused on her patients. Well, her _other_ patients, that is. With the huge influx of patients, the medical staff had decided to divide up the injured, each doctor taking a certain number of patients for their own, which was certainly better than everybody trying to take care of everybody. A sharp look toward her mother had gotten Clarke assigned to Bellamy’s section. The message was clear: _I’m not leaving him again._

Every time she had a break, she spent it by his bedside, catching him up on what had happened. They’d lost Harper, who’d been harvested for bone marrow already, but the others were fine. Monty had broken a leg, Jasper an arm, and Miller had been shot through the shoulder, but otherwise they were mostly fine. They’d even had a new addition, a girl from below the mountain, Maya. She was Jasper’s… something, and she’d received some of Harper’s bone marrow before realizing where it had come from.

“You got them all out before me?” he asked, and she winced at the accusation.

“We happened to find them first…” she said slowly. She had run through the entire lab, battle be damned, searching for him. She’d broken open the cages the 47 were in and shouted orders at them along her way, but the entire time she was focused solely on him. When she’d found him… he’d been laying on the floor of another cage, bleeding and forgotten, but still breathing. Still breathing.

“Clarke, it’s okay. I went in to get them out, remember?”

“Why the hell are _you_ comforting _me?”_

He muttered something that sounded something like, “It’s my job,” but before she could response he laid back down said “Never mind. I’m gonna get some sleep, P- Clarke. You should too. I’m surprised you haven’t collapsed yet.” He’d sent Octavia to bed hours ago similarly.

A little while later, she was relieved of duty and told to get some sleep. Unwilling to leave completely, she collapsed on one of the newly emptied cots- they’d sent Jasper back to his tent that day. She tried, but sleep didn’t come. The argument she’d had with Octavia before the rescue played on loop in her mind.

 _“Why the hell did you make him go?” she marched up to Clarke, hate in her eyes. A bystander grabbed her wrist, trying to hold her back, but she just shook him off.  
“I didn’t _ make _him go. He volunteered, Octavia. It was his idea.”  
“He wasn’t going to! He was going to stay. He only went because _ you _asked him.”  
“This was his plan-“  
“He was going to stay! For _ you _! He’d go to hell if you asked him to, and now you have!”_  
“He’s going to be fine, Octavia-“  
“You better hope he is. Otherwise his blood is on your hands.” The same look of quiet rage that haunted Indra’s eyes overcame hers, and the grounder saying came into Clarke’s mind unbidden. Blood must have blood.

Octavia had calmed since. There were a couple of times when they were still trying to save him, when they nearly lost him, that Clarke saw that look in her eyes again, and couldn’t bring herself to deny it. She’d done this to him. She’d sent him there. He should hate her- she certainly did- but he didn’t. Somehow, he’d forgiven her.

She held onto that forgiveness as she sank into a night of fitful sleep.


End file.
